


Unsettled

by Orrien



Category: Batman (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Clones, Conner Kent Is A Glasses Model, Dubious Science, Emotional Manipulation, Graphic injuries, Hallucinations, Ice Cream, M/M, Ma's Problem-Solving Apple Pie, Misunderstandings, Post-Preboot Canon, Preboot Canon, Psychosis, Slow Burn, Tim Drake Is A Psychological Mess, Vigilante Holidays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orrien/pseuds/Orrien
Summary: Conner has come to terms with feeling more than friendship for Tim. No, really, he has. It’s not just that Tim is out of his league, it’s that Tim obviously doesn’t have time for that kind of thing with anyone. Which is fine. Conner’s cool just having his best friend, and Tim seems pretty happy Conner’s back from the dead. So why does Tim keep lying to him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For my Clone Boy, who's stuck by me more years than I deserve, and humoured me with all kinds of ridiculous AUs. This one's for you.

There is something deeply unsettling about how Tim has and hasn’t changed.

 

Conner shrugged it off, at first. Tim was _grieving_ , distraught in that shut-off way of his, and Conner hadn’t been around to help him get his Batman-level emotional constipation dealt with. So yeah, Tim needed a haircut, and a shower, and like a dozen good meals, but it was whatever.

 

And Tim _hugged_ him. A real, honest to God _hug_ , like Conner was the only lifeline he’d been thrown in a year – even if Conner _knows_ that’s not true, ‘cause he’s spoken to Dick and Cassie, and he’s seen pictures of Tam, and-

 

The point is, Conner thought Tim was _gonna_ be alright, even if his best friend wasn’t back then.

 

Three months on, he isn’t so sure.

 

Tim smiles, now. They’re brief flashes, quiet and almost kind of absent, but it’s more than Conner remembers seeing since Tim’s dad died. Which, he guesses, is allowed to hit a guy pretty hard. He imagines. Not that he’d be all that torn up if Luthor suddenly pegged it, but hey, Conner knows he’s not the poster boy for functional family relationships, even compared to Bats. And really, it’s not like smiles ought to be a _bad_ thing. They’re just…unexpected. Kinda nice, really. Tim has a nice smile.

 

It’s just that sometimes, Conner catches one of those soft smiles when Tim has his bo staff rammed in some dude’s jugular, and- well, okay. That’s a slightly more worrying kind of smile. But sometimes they’re when Tim is in his room at the Tower, knees curled up to his chest and looking at Conner like the break of dawn, and it sends an altogether different twist to Conner’s stomach that he hasn’t- can’t- think too deeply about.

 

Tim’s told him some of what went on. Dick and Cassie have filled him in on most of the rest. The pit, and the cloning, and the thing with spider assassins that Tim can swear down wasn’t a suicide mission, but-

 

But Conner’s not so sure. And he thinks, okay, maybe that’s almost logical, ‘cause it _would_ be hard to live without the people closest to you, but they’re mostly back now and he doesn’t know whether or not that ought to _fix_ things.

 

Nor, as it turns out, does WebMD.

 

There’s a bunch of stuff that he finds through Google about ongoing studies into trauma and meta abilities, but Tim’s not a meta even if he’s superhuman smart, and the few scraps that Conner can find about grieving people who aren’t dead turn out to involve dumbass life insurance scams, not A Dummy’s Guide To Coping When Your Friends Come Back To Life.

 

It makes sense, kind of, that it would be a trauma in itself as much as a potential path to recovery. Like, if he and Bart had come back straight away, no harm done, maybe. But they didn’t. They were gone a whole year, and Tim had to grieve, and he coped, and he _changed_.

 

Conner’s trying to accept that.

 

-

 

“Hey, Rob.” He knocks on Tim’s window even as he floats in, uninvited and totally at ease. It’s cool. It’s just a part of their friendship, really. They invade each other’s personal space all the time. Or- okay, thinking on it, Conner’s always the one invading Tim’s space, but usually it’s to _check_ on him, and it’s not like Tim has ever minded, plus Tim totally invaded _his_ privacy that one time with the whole DNA thing-

 

“Do you hate when I don’t knock?” Conner blurts out, his initial reason for visiting temporarily forgotten.

 

Tim looks up from the microscope he’s using to investigate tiny glass slides, and glances over at Conner. It should probably be weirder, Conner thinks, that his best friend is kind of a mad scientist. Like, he _literally_ tried to clone Conner. Conner is pretty sure that’s blood on at least two of those slides. But instead of feeling creeped out, he actually feels kinda _comfortable_ in Tim’s lab. Maybe it’s the bed in the corner, piled up with blankets that Conner just knows Alfred is responsible for somehow.

 

“You do knock,” Tim says, after a short pause. “It’s just more to announce that it’s you than it is asking for permission. I guess the fact that I have to think about it means it can’t bother me _that_ much. And I could keep you out of my lab if I wanted to, so.” He shrugs.

 

“Dude.”

 

Tim blinks at him. “What?”

 

Conner rolls his eyes. “In some other universe, you’re definitely like, an evil scientist.” He heightens the pitch of his voice in mockery of Tim’s. “ _I could keep you out of my lab if I_ wanted _to, Superboy._ ”

 

“Okay, firstly, that is _not_ my voice. Secondly, you made that sound way creepier than when I said it.” Tim turns his attention back to his microscope, swapping one slide out for another and adjusting the magnification.

 

“Duh, that’s because it’s evil alternate universe you. Evil people are always creepier. Look at Lex. Look at Ra’s.”

 

Even with one eye closed and the other hidden, squinted down a microscope, Conner can tell that Tim is somehow rolling his eyes. “I’d rather not.”

 

“Right, because looking at _blood_ is so much more appealing.” Conner rolls _his_ eyes.

 

“Only a handful are blood samples,” Tim says, calm and matter-of-fact. He adjusts the magnification again. “The rest are tissue.”

 

“Gross. Also, _evil scientist_.”

 

“Did you come here for any particular reason, or was it just to tempt me into throwing bits of a dead man’s liver at you?”

 

Conner huffs and folds his arms across his chest. “They’re trapped in glass. And yeah. I came to ask if you wanted to hang out. Didn’t realize you were busy on a date with _John Doe_.”

 

“You don’t want to hang out with John Doe?” Tim pulls back from the microscope, and there’s one of those stupid little smiles again, changing the whole shape of his face somehow. “He’s a real conversationalist.”

 

“You are _so_ weird. Why are we friends?”

 

“Desperation on my part, I promise,” Tim says coolly. He scoots his chair away from one workstation and into another, where his open laptop awaits. “Give me ten minutes to send off this report and then you can have me for the rest of the night.”

 

“Don’t you have patrol?”

 

“Sure.” Tim shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard. It should be more frustrating, Conner thinks, because he knows Tim doesn’t have to look at where any of the keys are, he could look up at Conner and hold a proper conversation, but that’s never been Tim. He’ll glance up once or twice, sure, but Conner’s pretty sure he only knows how to use direct eye contact as a form of intimidation glared through a mask.

 

“Uh. Okay. I guess I could join you.” Conner scratches the back of his neck, wishing Tim would give him a little more to work with. “Has Batman gotten tired of the ‘no metas in Gotham’ rule?”

 

Tim smirks, then, and Conner knows it’s directed at him even if Tim’s gaze hasn’t faltered from the screen. “Have you gotten tired of breaking it?”

 

…His best friend knows him too well.

 

-

 

They go for ice-cream. There’s still a couple of hours of daylight left – or what passes for it in Gotham, anyway – and Tim doesn’t seem in any hurry to slip his costume on. Another weird little way that things have changed. Conner isn’t sure if Tim enjoys his civilian life more now, or if the two have just blurred together the way they have with Batman, until the costume is real and the person is just a mask.

 

Conner wants Tim to still be real.

 

“You should come to Metropolis.”

 

Tim stares at him for a moment, mouth half full of strawberry sorbet. Conner feels himself start to turn a similar shade of pink.

 

“I mean, you said yourself that Wayne Enterprises is doing well, so Bruce can’t need you for the business stuff, and I know for a _fact_ that there are more Bats than usual in the city right now. Take a break. Hell, dude, take a _holiday_.”

 

“I don’t need a-“

 

“You need a holiday,” Conner cuts across. “Somewhere _sunny_. You can bring your ridiculous SPF sun scream, and you can hide behind shades, but we’re getting you some vitamin D and a full helping of Ma’s finest apple pie.”

 

Tim’s lip twitches thoughtfully. “She _does_ make better pie than professional chefs.”

 

Heh. Victory. “I’ll make up the spare bed for next weekend.”

 

Tim’s eyes narrow slightly at him. “I’m sure you picked up the ‘frame it as a non-question’ thing from me.”

 

Conner shrugs. “Probably. Works, though.” He leans over and steals a spoonful of Tim’s sorbet, having finished his own sundae several minutes ago.

 

-

 

They fall back into rhythm with almost _too_ much ease. Conner knows the score – knows this is Tim’s city, _Batman’s_ city, and hangs back while Tim takes the lead. It’s not the same kind of teamup that Tim would have with Batman, or Nightwing – even with Superman, Conner’s fairly sure. This is something special to the two of them, developed unconsciously over years of watching each other’s backs and knowing each other inside out, and Conner can’t express the warmth he feels at knowing it’s _still there_. He hadn’t even realized he was worrying it mightn’t be.

 

Fighting in a team is different. With the Titans, everyone is watching each other, but while there’s an overall game plan, stuff shifts according to the tide of battle. Being one on one – or technically, right now, Conner guesses, two on four – allows for something a lot more intimate, discussed in minute shifts of body language.

 

Conner could watch Tim work for hours.

 

Honestly, he’s not doing much more than that, and acting as a second pair of eyes and ears. Catching anybody who tries to run when Tim lands in the middle of a drug trafficking operation, or whatever.

 

Tim is the one in the epicentre of it all, bo staff slamming hard enough to crack bones when he needs answers, voice low and seething. Conner has never seen the Batman so much in Tim before, but it’s smaller and contained, not quite as deadly as Black Bat but somehow almost as terrifying. Cass doesn’t talk much, especially when she’s fighting. Tim stops fighting _to_ talk, except maybe he doesn’t, maybe it’s just a _continuation_ of it, because Tim’s words carry the same level of threat as his bo does.

 

Conner knows that this always had to be grown into, that it would have been impossible for any fourteen year old to make grown men piss themselves with a growl the way he’s _pretty sure_ Tim is doing right now. But still. It’s another change to get used to. He doesn’t know what it says about them, about _him_ , that the two of them still work together seamlessly.

 

“Did you catch the runner?”

 

Aaaaand Conner is _totally_ paying attention. He jerks back to reality. Tim is tightening the zipties around the last of the three smugglers left at the scene.

 

“Uh. Yeah.” He floats back down to street level, no longer needing a higher vantage point. “I think he was trying to swallow something, so I knocked him out cold.”

 

He can see the frown behind Tim’s cowl. “…Hm. I thought we’d stomped out the bigger rings. Do me a favor and help me check for any identifying tattoos.”

 

Conner obliges, using his TTK to push up the sleeves of the nearest goon. Tim beats him to it, though, apparently. Conner hears him mutter a swear. “Rob?”

 

“Can you call these in with the police? I have to-“ He’s crouched next to one of them, their pants shoved up to expose a mark on the back of their lower leg. It doesn’t look like much beyond a black smudge, like a super amateur tattoo, but obviously it’s recognisable as _something_ , because Tim’s face looks even paler under the cowl.

 

“Rob? You okay? What is it? This isn’t like, League underlings or anything, right?”

 

Tim shakes his head minutely. “…No. It’s nothing. Nothing big. I just want to confirm some things with Oracle.”

 

Not for the first time in their friendship, Conner gets the impression he’s being lied to.

 

Not for the first time, he lets Tim get away with it. “…Sure. I’ll meet you back at yours?”

 

Tim shakes his head. “I could be a while. It’s boring stuff, anyway. Looking through old files. I’ll be back at the Tower in a couple of days, and I’ll fill you in on anything we find then.”

 

Conner bites down on the inside of his cheek. Tim promised him the _whole night_ , but Conner’s used to playing second fiddle to Gotham, and it’s only a couple of days. He can wait. “Sure. See you then, Rob.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is plot coming. But it might creep up on you quite slowly.
> 
> For now, have these two ridiculous dorks being adorable in Metropolis. 
> 
> A brief note on ages: Tim is 19 because I'm sorry DC, you can't keep him 17 forever and Too Many Things Happened in a too-short space of time to make me believe he isn't well into his majority by now. Conner is around "20" depending on how you want to measure it. Regardless, they're both adults and they're both doing their own thing, so many liberties have been taken in my timeskip from the end of preboot canon. Fight me tbh
> 
> Conner's job is entirely the fault of my boyfriend's suggestion, but it was also too perfect to pass up.

It’s more than a couple of days. Conner doesn’t hear from Tim for nearly a whole _week_. Ma swats at him and tells him to stop moping, and that if he’s so worried he should just go and visit Tim in Gotham again because “heaven knows those Bat boys can’t take good care of themselves”, but Conner just pours more cream onto his fifth slice of apple pie and grumbles into the next bite.

 

Some guys would be embarrassed about getting their own place in the city and still coming back to visit twice a week. Those guys aren’t lucky enough to be related to Ma Kent. Conner’s pretty sure he could move to a different _planet_ , and he’d still come back for homemade pie whenever he could.

 

Plus, he wants to make sure Ma doesn’t get lonely. He knows she has a couple of the local boys on as farmhands now, but it’s not the same as family, and Clark seems to just keep getting busier.

 

Not that Conner’s exactly lazing around himself. He’s graduated college – not with stellar grades, but still, graduated – and he’s doing occasional grunt work for the apartment block he’s staying in, fixing up anything that’s broken to try and keep his rent low. He doesn’t exactly need it, now that he’s earning a decent amount, but he likes knowing he can help support the farm (even if Ma keeps refusing any money, he can pay for new wheels for the tractor, and extra feed).

 

“I don’t need to _check up_ on him.” Conner scowls. “He’s in Gotham. His heartbeat’s fine. He’s not dead, or abducted, or anything like that. He’s just being dumb and ignoring his friends. _Again_.”

 

“And so your solution is to ignore him in return?” Ma raises an eyebrow at him, and Conner can _feel_ the judgement. “Tim’s a smart boy, but people are only as socially adept as they’re raised to be. Some of them need a little extra patience.”

 

“I’ve _been_ patient! It’s been nearly a _week_ , Ma! He hasn’t even called to cancel, or reassure me that he’s _okay_!”

 

“Conner Kent, what _have_ I told you about raising your voice in this house?” Ma’s own voice is quiet but commanding.

 

Conner shrinks in his seat. “…Sorry, Ma. I’m just- He never _talks_ to anyone. And everything that’s gone on the past year, it’s all piled on and what if he’s being _crushed_ and he’s just too socially messed up to ask for help?”

 

Ma sighs, but there’s a fondness in it. “Every day, you sound more like Clark. I remember _him_ sitting as this table years ago, despairing about Bruce Wayne and whether or not the man had eaten or slept in a week.”

 

Conner snorts. “Doubt it. Tim says he was awake four days straight one time.”

 

“Yes, well.” Ma purses her lips. “Bruce Wayne knows his limits, ridiculous though they may be sometimes. And he also knows that he has Clark watching his back.”

 

“So you’re saying…Tim brushes me off because he knows I’ll just take it?” Conner frowns.

 

“I’m saying that Tim knows the strength of your friendship, and trusts that you’ll be there for him even when he forgets a date or two.”

 

Conner pinks at the word. “It wasn’t a _date_ , Ma. It was a- a scheduled thingy. A hangout. Between best friends.”

 

Ma puts a fresh slice of pie onto his plate. “I remember how upset _I_ used to get when a boy would skip out on _scheduled thingies_.”

 

“ _Ma_.” Conner’s quickly turning red as a beet. “We’re just friends.”

 

She pats his arm. “I know. And it’s okay if that’s all you want to be. But you know I’m not so old-fashioned as to object if it isn’t.” Her voice is soft, but it doesn’t lessen the stab of panic that lances through him. Ma, God bless her, is not the world’s greatest detective. Which means if Conner has been obvious enough for _her_ -

 

“…I need to go talk to Tim.”

 

Ma smiles at him like this was the outcome she expected all along. “I’ll put the rest of the pie in the fridge.”

 

-

 

Weirdly, when Conner zones in on Tim’s heartbeat again, it’s at the Tower. He lands on the balcony and heads straight for Tim’s room, only to find him waiting in the corridor. Seemingly for Conner.

 

Conner frowns. “ _Do_ you have a tracker on me?”

 

Tim smiles, amused. “I heard you sonic boom on the way here. We’re too far out for it to be Clark. What’s got you in such a hurry?”

 

“What’s got- _Dude_.” Conner scowls at him. “You said you were gonna be in touch _days_ ago. What the hell?”

 

Tim just shrugs. “I got held up. Things took longer to investigate than I thought they would, that’s all. I didn’t…realize it would be a big deal?” He’s frowning back at Conner now, but it looks more like confusion than anything.

 

With a sting, Conner realizes Tim probably hasn’t worked with anyone closely in a while, let alone maintained a close friendship. Maybe he’s forgotten _how_.

 

All the fight suddenly taken out of him, Conner sighs and slumps against the wall. “Whatever. It’s fine, dude. Just…keep me in the loop, okay?”

 

“Okay. Sorry.” Tim ducks his head a little, and with the cowl down around his shoulders, he looks weirdly small and vulnerable. And _tired_. Conner can see the shadows under his eyes.

 

Before he can comment, Tim is looking up again, wetting his lips. “…wondering if tomorrow might be okay?”

 

Conner really needs to stop zoning out just before Tim starts talking. “Uh. Come again?”

 

“I know it’s short notice. I just thought…if you were _free_ … Maybe a few days in Metropolis isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

 

He’s hearing things. “You… _want_ to visit?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Then _yeah_ , dude. Tomorrow’s fine! I’ll get everything set up! Are you flying in, or do you want me to pick you up?”

 

And fuck it, Tim is _smiling_ again. “A lift would be great, thanks. I figure if I’m not there as Tim Wayne, I can’t turn it into a business trip.”

 

“Superboy Airlines will be there to pick you up at noon.” Conner grins, as wide as his chest feels with his heart fit to bursting. Tim’s coming to visit. On _holiday_. _Voluntarily_. And then Conner has a thought. “No cowl allowed.”

 

“What? What if I need to-“

 

“Nope. Not your city, dude. You’re on _holiday_. This means _relaxation_ , a concept I know you’re unfamiliar with, but over the next few days I will _teach_ you.” He folds his arms across his chest and waits out the inevitable narrowed-eye war.

 

Tim eventually folds. “Ugh. Fine. No cowl.”

 

Conner smirks triumphantly.

 

-

 

In retrospect, it’s possible that Conner didn’t think this plan the whole way through. Because Tim said it wasn’t a suited-up business trip, and Conner took away the cowl option, and these two things put together mean that Tim is currently wearing _shorts_.

 

His legs are toned with muscle, and Conner was sort of expecting them to be bare - but they’re not, there’s dark hair scattered across the front, and as a result Conner’s brain is slowly melting out of his ears. Tim has body hair. Conner’s seen Tim half-naked before and he definitely doesn’t remember any. Maybe Tim was a late bloomer. Maybe he _waxes_. Maybe when he doesn’t, there’s dark hair on his chest and running in a trail down past his belly button.

 

Oh yeah. Conner miscalculated, all right.

 

Tim stands up from relacing his trainers, and tilts his head curiously at Conner. “You okay?”

 

“Fine,” Conner says, his voice weirdly distant. He clears his throat. “Fine. Where, uh, did you wanna go first?”

 

Tim shrugs. “It’s your city.”

 

And it’s weird hearing it, because even just a few months ago, Metropolis was _Clark’s_ city, but it’s starting to feel like home for Conner, too. Maybe not permanently. He’s thought about going somewhere different and new, like out to New York, or LA, or even back to Hawaii. Maybe he will one day. For now, though, he thinks it’s important to be close to family.

 

He glances up, and the LexCorp building towers into vision. Yeah, okay. Not _that_ family. He turns his gaze in the other direction.

 

“How about we walk through the park and then grab a burger at PD’s? I’m _starving_.”

 

“Sure.” Tim follows Conner through the main gates of the park like it’s somehow familiar, walking with the same casual ease he always does. Conner used to think it was part of the Wayne persona (or, going way back, Mr Sarcastic), but now he’s increasingly sure it’s just Tim, who is way more of a chameleon than most people give him credit for. Don’t get him wrong. Tim is a Gothamite through and through. But he’s able to blend in elsewhere, slipping into crowds and cities like he’s always belonged.

 

Metropolis Tim, Conner decides, looks younger. Just by a year or two, maybe just clipping eighteen, or maybe even Tim’s actual nineteen years. Tim’s looked older than he is for a while, if you ask Conner. He wouldn’t be able to put a finger on what’s different now, though, if you asked him. Tim’s too good to make it obvious even for those who know enough to look. The dark circles are still there under his eyes, though hidden by shades Conner’s sure are designer. Maybe it’s just the way Tim looks in sunlight, skin shining like it might actually consider a tan.

 

“Is that…you?”

 

Once again, Tim’s voice startles Conner from his thoughts.

 

He follows Tim’s line of sight over to one of the park benches, where, sure enough, there’s an advert for new designer frames. Unlike the ones Tim’s wearing, though, these are for prescription glasses. Being worn by a _very_ handsome young man with short dark hair and just the faintest beginnings of a cowlick over his forehead. “Um. Wow, what an uncanny resemblance?” Conner tries, knowing the words are weak even as they leave his mouth.

 

Tim _looks_ at him. “Conner. _Why_ are you on a park bench?”

 

“It’s…complicated?”

 

Tim continues to _look_ at him.

 

Conner gives way. “Okay, so I wanted to find my own thing to do that wasn’t like _interning at the Daily Planet_ or treading on anyone else’s toes and Bart suggested _modelling_ but then when I got to the portfolio stage I realized I need my glasses for identity reasons so I made up some lame excuse not to take them off for photos and now I’m sort of the face of four different glasses companies and a couple optometrists?” He takes a breath. “It’s, uh. Decent pay.”

 

Tim is frowning slightly at the bench. Conner feels suddenly exposed, like Tim is able to tell where he’s been airbrushed just by squinting. “…You look good,” Tim says finally.

 

“Uh. Thanks?”

 

Tim’s confusing half-smile makes another reappearance. “I mean it. You should try wearing more rectangular lenses like that. They suit you more than the squared-off ones.”

 

Without warning, Tim leans up, and suddenly he’s taking off Conner’s glasses and putting his own more rectangularly-framed sunglasses on him instead.

 

“See? A definite improvement.”

 

Conner squints. “Dude. Why is your _face_ blurry? Are these _prescription_? Do Calvin Klein even _do_ prescription sunglasses?”

 

Tim laughs. “You buy the frames and the lenses separately, Conner. And I’m slightly long-sighted.” He takes a step back. “Better?”

 

“Ye…ah…” Conner blinks. Tim has come back into focus now, but so has the realization that Tim is now wearing _Conner’s_ glasses. The thick square frames don’t exactly suit him, but they make his eyes look bigger, and they hide his dark circles a little more.

 

It’s possible that Conner has a general weakness for Tim in glasses.

 

It’s also possible that he has a general weakness for Tim _wearing his things_ , like Conner hasn’t had a hundred fantasies that have ended with Tim wearing his shirts in the morning.

 

He quickly removes the sunglasses. “Dude. C’mon, give those back.” He holds out his hand.

 

Tim sighs but reluctantly hands them to him, and Conner swaps the glasses back over, relief flooding him.

 

“I can’t believe you never told me you needed glasses,” Conner huffs.

 

“I _don’t_. It’s only stuff that’s up really close, like when I’m reading. It’s not a big deal. If it was, I’d have had corrective surgery.”

 

Conner stops in his tracks. “Corrective surgery,” he repeats. “Dude, they come at you with _lasers_ for that.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Lasers_ , Tim.”

 

Tim rolls his eyes. “Yes, Conner. Lasers. Lasers, which are useful for things like photochemistry and microscopy, not just _giant death rays in movies_.”

 

Conner pouts. “It’s not just movies. I bet _at least_ one of our supervillains has a giant laser.”

 

Tim starts walking off without him.

 

Conner jogs after him, undeterred. “You know I’m right!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Much plot.

PD’s is Conner’s favourite diner in the whole of East Metropolis. The burgers – and he can say this more definitely than most – are out of this freaking _world_. Triple breaded chicken breast stacked with crispy bacon, mustard and a blue cheese sauce is Conner’s current favourite item on the menu. He’s working his way through the rest.

 

Tim, sat on the opposite side of the booth, is looking around the place with a faint frown, and distinctly _not_ looking at the menu.

 

Aggie comes bustling over to their table with her usual big smile, pulling her notepad out from her apron and the pen from behind her ear. “What can I get you boys today? Chicken Supreme for you, Conner?”

 

He grins, only slightly abashed. “And a strawberry milkshake, please, Ag.”

 

“Sure thing, sweetie.” She jots it down on her pad and then turns to Tim. “And for your friend?”

 

Tim smiles politely. “I’ll trust Conner’s judgement on the strawberry milkshake, too, please. And could I get the Cheeseburger Special with a side of curly fries?”

  
  
“No problem.” She beams. “I’ll be back with your drinks in a jiff.”

 

Conner waits until she’s out of hearing distance before leaning over the table at Tim. “Okay. What the _hell_.”

 

Tim blinks. “What? A guy’s not allowed to order a cheeseburger?”

 

“You ordered by name, Tim. _Without looking at the menu_.”

 

“…You know _I’m_ supposed to be the paranoid one of us, right?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I looked up the menu on my phone while we were walking through the park.”

 

Conner pauses and sits back in his seat. “…Oh. Right.”

  
  
“Do you want to… _talk_ about anything?” Tim says, looking at Conner carefully. “Not necessarily to me. I know a therapist who’s used to dealing with the whole superhero, back-from-the-dead, mind-control kinds of crazy. If you want me to pass on some details.”

 

“You…do?”

 

Tim nods.

 

“Did you… While I was gone? I mean…”

 

Tim looks away. Conner wishes he wouldn’t. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “I had to talk to _someone_ , and Dick wasn’t so great at listening while he was pretending to be Bruce.”

 

“Oh. Did it…help?”

 

“A little.” Tim shrugs. Which tells Conner nothing, really, but Aggie’s there with a tray and a couple of milkshakes before Conner can push any further, and by then the moment’s passed.

 

Tim steers the conversation towards baseball, of all things, which, really, is enough of a sign that he Doesn’t Want To Talk About It. Seriously, _baseball_? Conner quickly starts talking about Ma and the farm instead, and he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the flash of relief on Tim’s face when he’s no longer the one having to topic-lead.

 

-

 

After lunch, they end up wandering around the city a bit more, window-shopping for the most part. Conner has to drag Tim away from some fancy-pants looking tie shop, because seriously, Rob has _enough ties_. Tim has to drag Conner away from a bookshop with a particularly hot assistant, which is totally unfair because he was just having a polite conversation about the _glasses_ she was wearing, Rob, geez.

 

By the time they crash back at Conner’s box of an apartment, he feels more than exhausted enough to sleep, happy to ignore that it’s not even ten o’clock yet. Tim, of course, is still painfully awake. Fucking night owl.

 

“You’re gonna be tired tomorrow morning,” Conner yawns at him. “I’m waking you up at seven no matter when you sleep, dude.”

  
  
Tim just shoots him a smile over the screen of his laptop like Conner’s drowsiness is amusing to him. “I only need four hours.”

 

“If you stay up until 3am, I swear I am taking away your computer, dude. What do you even _do_ on there all the time?”

 

Tim shrugs. “Work stuff, usually.” He glances up and catches Conner’s glare. “Which I am _not_ doing at the moment, relax. I’m just checking up on some of my accounts and playing a half-assed game of solitaire.”

 

Conner squints hard at him. “How is ‘accounts’ not work? Rob. Close the laptop.”

 

“They’re personal accounts.”

 

“Roooooobbbb.”

 

Tim rolls his eyes and clicks his trackpad a couple of times. A few minutes later, there’s been no attempt to close the laptop.

 

Conner leans over there with TTK and shuts the lid, all while lying on the couch with his eyes closed. He adds a couple of fake snores just for effect.

 

“Asshole,” Tim mutters fondly.

 

Conner hears the laptop being put away, and smiles.

 

-

 

As much as Tim might mock him for it, Conner is very much a creature of both habit and the sun. He gets tired early in the evenings, and happily wakes up at the crack of dawn. When the sun’s in the sky, Conner is awake.

 

It’s very rare for him to wake up in the middle of the night.

 

When he blinks awake and finds it’s still dark outside, he frowns. Maybe Tim woke him up going to the bathroom? “…Rob?”

 

No answer.

 

Conner waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and glances around. Neither the bathroom nor kitchen lights are on, but the hallway – which operates on a motion sensor – is dimly lit.

 

He closes his eyes and listens for Tim’s heartbeat. It’s quiet but steady.

 

He falls back asleep.

 

-

 

Dawn wakes Conner before the birds do. He yawns, stretches, and rolls off the couch, shoving on pants as he heads into the bathroom to take a leak. Tim won’t be up for a while yet, but that’s fine. Conner likes having a few quiet hours to lounge around before breakfast. Maybe he’ll go flying for a bit.

 

He splashes his face with water from the sink and stops. He squints.

 

On the underside of the faucet, there’s a speck of blood. Fresh blood, like someone’s cut themselves shaving, but Conner doesn’t shave and Tim is…asleep…

 

Swallowing back a sudden lump in his throat, Conner floats over to his bedroom door. He knocks as softly as he can, not wanting to wake Tim if he’s not already awake. “…Rob?”

 

No answer.

 

Conner has the weirdest sense of déjà vu.

 

He pushes the door open just a crack, enough to see vaguely into the room. Tim is in bed still, sound asleep, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths. Nothing in the room seems disturbed, except for Tim’s backpack on the floor, which looks like he must have rummaged through it last night, and the window, which is cracked open to let in some air. Conner exhales.

 

Tim is fine.

 

He moves into the kitchen, grabbing one of the two remaining clean bowls in the cupboard and pouring himself some cereal. He didn’t realise how close he was to the bottom of the box. He ends up with the last little dusty bits in there, the ones that turn to mush the moment the milk touches them, but it’s whatever. He’ll get some more later. There’s not much other food in the house, either.

 

He shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, mulling over plans for the day. He wants to take Tim to the skatepark downtown at some point, and he’s also trying to mentally schedule time for boring shit like museums, because at the end of the day, this is _Tim’s_ holiday, and Tim likes weird things.

 

Tim’s probably going to want breakfast first, though. There’s milk left, but not much else. Conner could go shopping before Tim wakes up. Or they could go out to eat somewhere. Maybe even PD’s again. Conner’s sure Aggie’s mentioned a breakfast menu before.

 

He shovels some more cereal into his mouth and heads back into the lounge, unhooking his phone from charge and taking it into the kitchen with him. He types ‘PDs diner metropolis’ into the search bar of his web browser and waits for the results page to load.

 

He hears Tim roll over in his sleep with a faint mumble.

 

After several seconds of waiting, the page loads. There’s a Google map, and several reviews (five star, as Aggie deserves). A few blog posts about it.

 

But there’s no website.

 

And there’s definitely not an online menu.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is a lying liar who lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you to everyone who has left such wonderful comments! I hope you like this chapter. If it's a little dialogue-heavy for you, do not fear. Plot is coming. Great and terrible plot. 
> 
> Things also get a bit darker here, so heads up that there's some graphic content. Specifically, you may need to watch out for: ableism with regards to mental illness, mentions of self-harm (though actually a misunderstanding) and suicidal ideation, discussions of character death, hallucinations, psychiatry and medications, mentions of depression, and semi-graphic stuff with scars and open wounds. 
> 
> More specific notes at the end on the mental illness side of things.

Tim wanders groggily into the kitchen a few hours later, rubbing a hand against his face and stifling a yawn. “Morning,” he mumbles.

 

“Just about, sleepyhead.” Conner injects false cheer into his voice with relative ease. He hates it. Hates lying to Tim. Hates knowing Tim is lying to _him_. Hates that this is what his best friend turns him into sometimes.

 

Tim frowns. “What time is it?”

 

“Half nine.” Not exactly the end of the morning, but-

 

“You said you were going to wake me at seven.”

 

“Yeah.” Conner shrugs. “But then I saw how exhausted you were.” Must be all that lying, huh, Rob?

 

Tim at least has the decency to look sheepish as he perches on one of the breakfast stools. “Sorry. I meant to go to bed earlier, I just…couldn’t sleep.”

 

Up close, Conner can see the bags under Tim’s eyes. He finds himself looking for fresh bruises, too, and cuts – something that might have left the blood he found in the bathroom. He can’t see anything. That doesn’t mean Tim isn’t covering it up. “Nightmares?”

 

“Kind of,” Tim says quietly. “I usually prefer to physically exhaust myself so that my brain can’t- It’s easier not to see stuff that way. For me, anyway.”

 

“What kind of..?”

 

“My dad, usually.” Tim swallows.

 

There’s the tiniest hitch in his heartbeat, small enough that Conner isn’t totally sure if he just imagined it. “But not always?” he says slowly.

 

Tim…looks away. “Sometimes it’s you,” he says eventually, voice soft enough that even Conner has to strain to hear it. “I see you dying, over and over.”

 

Conner frowns. “You didn’t, though. See me die, I mean.”

 

“There was footage.” Tim’s voice cracks, and Conner’s heart breaks a little in his chest. “You couldn’t- it doesn’t catch everything, but…”

 

But enough to give Tim nightmares. Conner reaches over the table and squeezes his hand. “Hey. I didn’t even feel it. Promise.”

 

If Tim can tell he’s lying, he lets it slide with a soft huff. His fingers tangle with Conner’s. “You…really messed me up, disappearing like that.”

 

“How many times do you want me to say sorry, dude?”

 

“None,” Tim says quietly. He’s running his thumb over Conner’s hand, but not looking at him. He clears his throat. “I told you about seeing a therapist, before. Bruce and Dick both know about that one – Leslie Thompkins is the point of contact. Even if I kept quiet and relied on patient/doctor confidentiality, sooner or later somebody would have noticed comings and goings. I mostly told everybody just to avoid being questioned about it.”

 

Conner nods, not knowing exactly what kind of response Tim is looking for here.

 

“I saw a psychiatrist, as well, for a while. There’s a chance Bruce knows about that, too, but I didn’t tell anyone.”

 

“Um.” Shit, Conner feels dumb. “What’s the difference?”

 

Tim glances up with a snort. “Bruce likes to pretend he respects privacy.”

 

“No, I mean- What’s the difference between a therapist and a psychiatrist?”

 

“Oh. Actually, it…depends. A therapist _can_ be a psychiatrist, but usually they’re more likely to be in the psychology field than psychiatry. Good for counselling, talking through your problems, cognitive behavioural therapy, that kind of thing. Psychiatrists are medical doctors. They can prescribe medicine.”

 

“…Did they?”

 

“Yes. I was on anti-depressants for a while, then anti-psychotics.”

 

Conner blinks. “But you’re not psychotic.”

 

Tim’s amused smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Conner wishes that was unusual these days. “I kept seeing you,” Tim says bluntly. “It’s why I tracked down the footage of you dying. I needed to- to try and convince my brain you were gone. Which sounds like I was in _denial_ or something. It wasn’t that. I knew you were dead. But then you’d be there, and I could see you, and _hear_ you, and-“ He swallows hard enough that Conner can see his throat work. “It’s really hard to argue with your own brain.”

 

“Nah,” Conner says eventually. “It’s probably just cuz yours is too smart for its own good, dude. Nobody can argue with it. Even you.”

 

Tim snorts again, but Conner likes to think there’s more genuine amusement in it this time. “Well, the meds are arguing just fine. Anyway. I figured I owed you an explanation for Paris.”

 

“Paris?” Conner blinks.

 

“When you first came back. I was probably a bit…casual? It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy to see you, or anything.”

 

The truth dawns on Conner slowly. “You thought I was a hallucination.”

 

Tim nods. “I hadn’t been on my current meds that long, so I was still…adjusting.”

 

“…You’re still on them?”

 

Tim nods again, slower. “There’s a lot of overlap between mental stuff, and diagnoses can be kind of a guessing game. It’s possible I had a temporary psychotic episode, and I just suffer from severe depression.”

 

Conner wets his lips. “Or?”

 

“Or I could be schizophrenic. In which case it’s a lifelong thing.”

 

“Can’t you…I dunno, _tell_?” Tim doesn’t seem schizophrenic to him. But then, what would Conner know?

 

Tim smiles wryly. “You don’t just wake up crazy one morning, Conner. Negative symptoms – the ones that usually happen earliest – are things like feeling unmotivated, or seeming emotionless.”

 

“Pretty sure that last one is like, Bat-default.”

 

“Exactly.” And yet, Tim’s smiling genuinely now, right at him. “And that’s _without_ adding superhero stuff like people coming back to life into the mix. It’s…complicated.”

 

“I’m, uh, getting that. So…what does this mean? For, like, you. And stuff.”

 

“Honestly? I’m probably in a _better_ place now, even if it looks like the opposite. Getting the right diagnosis is half the battle. Know your enemy, right? If you’re asking if I’m going to suddenly snap and murder everybody, though, the answer is no. Not how this works.”

 

“I wasn’t gonna. I just… Should I treat you differently? Do you want me to do anything?”

 

Tim falls quiet for several long moments, and Conner starts wondering if he somehow shoved his foot in his mouth again and made Tim just not want to speak to him at all, but- “Mostly? No. If I seem like I’m having an episode of some kind, then you can intervene and talk to me about it. Don’t talk to other people about me as a first course of action. Don’t treat me like I’m dangerous.”

 

“You’ve _always_ been dangerous, Rob,” Conner jokes, but the mention of Tim causing harm brings the blood in the bathroom back to the forefront of his mind. He swallows. “You’re not, like, dangerous to _yourself_ , though, right?”

 

“Right now?”

 

“In general.”

 

“I’ve…had suicidal periods. Risk-taking behaviour.”

 

Conner swallows. “…I found blood in the bathroom this morning.”

 

Tim stares at him for a moment. Conner’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. At least, he can’t hear it for a good few seconds. “No,” Tim says, very softly. “I didn’t. One of my more recent wounds opened up during the night because I moved too much. I got up to clean it in the bathroom. I thought I’d wiped everything down afterwards. Obviously not.” His mouth quirks. “Sorry for worrying you.” He sounds genuine.

 

Conner nods. He _wants_ to believe Tim. Really badly. But Tim’s lied before, and if he’s lying now and Conner doesn’t press the issue, he’s never gonna be able to forgive himself for letting Tim get hurt like that. But Tim _just said_ about not wanting Conner to think he’s dangerous, so how’s Conner supposed to ask that kind of thing?

 

“-could help me bandage it properly, that would be great, actually.”

 

Shit. Conner’s face drops in relief as the tail-end of what Tim was saying clicks in his head. “ _Yeah_ , dude. No problem.”

 

And then Tim is turning and pulling off his shirt, and Conner’s jaw is hanging off his face a little. Not because Tim’s body is handsome, exactly – he’s toned with muscle, sure, but there are scars criss-crossing his back, and a lot of them are jagged and angry. It’s not the first time Conner’s seen the state of Tim, either, though he doesn’t exactly _like_ the reminder of his best buddy’s mortality. He can’t say shit. Tim would just say something about Bruce being worse, and while Conner’s sure that’s true, it doesn’t actually make the state of Tim look any _better_.

 

Especially not with one square patch of his skin literally stitched together, like the whole thing was cut off at some point before being replaced. Gross, and kind of creepy. Conner doesn’t remember seeing that one before, even if it looks half-healed.

 

It’s a wound just above that one that Tim’s talking about, though. It’s not bleeding, but the gash is open and red. Conner resists the urge to poke at it, even with TTK. “Uh. Does this need stitches? It’s pretty big.” Like, the length of Conner’s thumb, and maybe a quarter as wide. The area around it is even paler than Tim’s skin usually is.

 

Tim shakes his head. “I have some stuff in my- in my rucksack. Hang on.” He gets up and heads into Conner’s bedroom, leaving his t-shirt on the table. When he returns, he’s holding gauze and tape in one hand, and a tiny tube of what looks like glue in the other.

 

Conner squints. “I’m not supergluing you back together, dude.”

 

“It’d be relatively safe if you did, actually,” Tim says breezily, “but this is surgical adhesive. It’s easier than stitches. You just need to press the sides of the wound together so it closes, and hold it while the glue dries. It only takes a minute.”

 

“Uh.” Conner takes the tube with a little uncertainty, but it definitely says it’s for medical stuff on the side. And he doubts Tim has so many scars because he’s been treating them wrong the whole time. Human bodies just don’t heal all that perfectly. Right?

 

Tim sits back down in front of him, leaning forward – Conner guesses so that the glue doesn’t drip down. He pinches the wound closed with TTK and squeezes out a thin line of glue over the join.

 

“Hey, Rob?”

 

“Mmn?”

 

“How’d you get the weird square scar below this?” All of the others are slashes or irregular-shaped patches – Conner’s guessing those are where Tim’s scraped against something, or whatever. The more he looks Tim’s back over while the glue is drying, the more the square one stands out.

 

“Oh. That was…a medical thing.”

 

Conner feels his own heartbeat speed up in response to the flinch of Tim’s own. “…Medical thing?”

 

“A skin biopsy. They take a bit of your skin out to run it under a microscope and test for things.”  


“Like what?”

 

“All sorts. Anything from eczema to cancer.” As if sensing Conner’s worry, Tim glances over his shoulder at him. “I’m fine. They’re just-in-case tests, more than anything. It was nearly a year ago. If there was anything abnormal, it would have shown up. Is the glue dry yet?”

 

“Uh.” Conner prods at it lightly. “Yeah, I think so.” He takes the gauze that Tim’s already holding out, and carefully tapes it over the wound. “Does that feel okay? I’ve never done this before.”

 

Tim sits up a little and carefully flexes his back muscles. “Yeah, that should be fine. Thanks. So long as it holds in place, it’ll do the trick.”

 

“No problem. “ Conner shoots him a grin he only half feels. “I always wanted to play nurse.”

 

Tim snorts and slowly pulls his shirt back on. “So long as you don’t try confining me to bedrest, we’ll be fine.”

 

“Ha! No way, dude. Fresh air and sunlight’s more like it. I’ve got today all planned out, starting with the _Metropolis Space Museum_.” Yeah. Conner’s officially the best friend a nerd could have.

 

Tim smiles. “Sounds good. Coffee first, though.” He opens the cupboard for a mug, and switches on the kettle. While it’s boiling, he moves to the fridge to get out the….milk…

 

Aw, crap. Conner _knew_ he was forgetting something. He rubs the back of his neck. “ _About_ that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of headcanons went into this chapter, especially regarding Tim's mental state. The entire Red Robin arc is super interesting to me, honestly, because of how Tim's behaviour is written. And I've never quite bought the Paris rooftop scene when Conner comes back because Tim is initially WAY TOO CHILL about his best friend suddenly not being dead. Somewhere along the line, the idea that this had happened to Tim before came in, and then it just became an inseparable headcanon for me, because it makes everything make far more sense. 
> 
> The Batfam in general is not great with mental illness? Like, I'm pretty sure that almost all of them suffer from various kinds, but there's definitely a negative perspective on it, and the canon narrative's choice to largely align mental illness (especially psychosis) with evil/bad characters would definitely have an impact, I think, on both how Tim views his diagnosis and Conner's initial reactions. 
> 
> I'm not personally psychotic, to be up front about that. I do get hallucinations, but they're largely auditory, and to do with other mental stuff. I've tried to do research for this, both first and secondhand, but if you feel anything is off, please let me know. For the record, my headcanons for Tim probably align more closely with schizoaffective disorder than schizophrenia, but I also think Tim would be a pretty terrible patient because he tends to hold back from talking about things. Plus, as mentioned in the chapter, superpowers and whatnot would definitely complicate diagnosis.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner misunderstands a lot of things. Tim is an angry bird. Lex finally makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Plot, Batman! Here is where things kick off a little. I apologise for the pacing, but you get an extra long chapter to make up for it a little, hopefully?

The Metropolis Space Museum is actually pretty cool. Conner’s not been before. He usually makes a point of avoiding anything that was even partially funded by LexCorp, and tries to ignore that he technically also falls under that umbrella.

 

He guesses Luthor’s weird obsession with aliens and shit sort of had to do _something_ beyond just raving about how Superman is dangerous.

 

There’s a tiny exhibit on Krypton, which Conner guesses makes sense given how little is publicly known, but he’s also pretty sure Lex would have strangled some paychecks if they’d tried to do anything too positive about Superman. As it stands, there’s a few articles on him, a fragment of Kara’s ship, and a great big display on _Zod_. Featuring video footage of him trying to destroy Earth. Of course.

 

Conner sighs. He’s sort of tempted to touch Kara’s ship, but he’s pretty sure that would either set off those weird museum alarms that always go off in heist movies, or Krypton technology would sense he’s some freak hybrid and try to murder him somehow, even if it’s literally only a piece of scrap metal from the hull.

 

Tim bumps his shoulder. “What are you thinking?” he murmurs.

 

“Just how Krypton honestly kind of sucked.” He turns away from the exhibit. “And how I couldn’t miss it anyway.”

 

He’s surprised by how close Tim stays. Not touching, exactly, but enough that Conner can kind of vaguely feel him without even trying to use his TTK. It’s nothing to do with temperature, but it’s a kind of warmth anyway.

 

“You’re allowed to miss things you never had,” Tim says quietly.

 

Conner swallows. “Hey, they have one of those lightning machines over there. C’mon.” He grabs Tim by the wrist and drags him towards a different exhibit.

 

He barely even notices when Tim shifts to slide their fingers together instead.

 

-

 

Three exhibits later and Conner has very much noticed, because Tim is _still holding his hand_. He squeezes it occasionally, like he’s trying to reassure Conner, or maybe reassure himself that Conner’s there, or something. Yeah. That last one makes sense, Conner thinks. Can hallucinations have their hands squeezed? Probably not. So this is just him being a good friend and letting Tim…reassure himself. Yep.

 

They’re in the final exhibit, Conner’s pretty sure. It’s probably the coolest. The whole room is dark, dotted with constellations hanging from the ceiling, and there’s a massive telescope in the centre of the room.

 

Tim is saying something about the lifespans of stars and how this one constellation has visibly changed in the sky over the past decade but that actually means part of it blew up before he was even born because of how long it takes for the light to reach Earth, and it’s cool even if Conner only understands half of what Tim actually says.

 

Tim’s eyes are bright in a way they rarely are these days, lit up by darkness and constellations.

 

Conner sort of wants to kiss him.

 

He knows that would be a really bad idea.

 

Instead, he squeezes Tim’s hand and leads him out into the sunlight.

 

-

 

Tim stops holding his hand at some point. Not that Conner _minds_. It just means Tim’s over whatever temporary need he had to reassure himself his buddy was real, that’s all. That’s a _good_ thing.

 

Conner keeps telling himself that as they walk to PDs for lunch, shoving his suddenly cold hands into his jeans pockets.

 

Aggie doesn’t seem to notice Conner’s mopey behaviour. She makes sure their milkshakes are extra frothy, and happily switches out Conner’s recent ‘usual’ for the next burger down the menu. It’s good. Conner barely feels like he’s tasting it, but it’s good.

 

Across the table, Tim seems equally oblivious. He’s actually ordered off the menu this time, but somehow that just makes things before seem more suspicious, because he’s obviously just trying to throw Conner off the scent.

 

Maybe that’s what the hand-holding was about, too. Maybe Tim being open about secrets and holding Conner’s hand in the dark is just a ploy to distract him from something _else_ that’s going on. Maybe he even _knows_ how Conner feels, and he’s doing it on purpose.

 

…Would Rob do that?

 

He isn’t sure anymore.

 

“Do you want some of my fries?”

 

Conner looks up to find Tim pushing his plate towards the middle of the table. He shrugs and takes a couple. “Thanks.”

 

“It’s cool. I got them to share.” Tim smiles at him.

 

Cassie always used to do that. Order extra sides on their dates, because she knew Conner wouldn’t want to look awkward trying to deal with super metabolism.

 

Conner chews thoughtfully. “…You know Cassie’d probably be cool with all your mental stuff, right?”

 

“Is this…coming from anywhere in particular?”

 

He shrugs. “I don’t wanna see my best friend convincing himself he’s better off alone, or whatever, s’all. You guys work well together. The rest of the Titans’d be cool with it if you were a thing again. Except Rose, maybe. But that’s just Rose.”

 

Tim chokes on a curly fry. “Cassie and I aren’t- We never-“

 

“Dude. She _told_ me you kissed. And…stuff.” In actuality, Cassie didn’t go into that much detail. But Conner’s long been convinced that Tim’s actually pretty unrestrained once you get him past a certain point, and none of the girls he’s talked to have done anything to sway that opinion.  

 

“We had a joint moment of _grief_. She was thinking about you, not me.”

 

Conner squints at him. “Okay, but you kissed her _back_. And she’s way over me, dude.”

 

“Well, I’m _not_.” Tim pinks. “Interested. In Cassie. Like that. So.”

 

“Tam?”

 

“Are you seriously trying to playing matchmaker right now?”

 

Conner shrugs. “Why not?”

 

“Firstly, because you don’t even know my _type_.”

 

“Ha! Easy. Blondes.” Wait. Tam. “No. Uh. Strong…women..?”

 

Tim shoots him a look. “I rest my case.”

 

“Aww, c’mon. You gotta tell me now, dude. I can be your wingman!”

 

“Conner, you can’t even get _yourself_ a date.”

 

“I…” Shit. He hasn’t dated anyone since Cassie. Who he started dating when they were like, sixteen. “…That’s not the point. If anything, that’s you failing as _my_ wingman.”

 

“I’m not your wingman, Conner.”

 

“But you _could_ be.”

 

Tim rolls his eyes. “Here’s an idea. Take whatever girl you were entertaining the idea of setting me up with, and ask her out yourself. Problem solved.”

 

“Dude, our tastes are _nothing_ alike. I mean, you apparently never even fancied _Cassie_ , so.”

 

“And yet you wanted to set me up with her.” Tim arches an eyebrow.

 

Conner grumbles. “Fine. No matchmaking.” He grabs a handful of Tim’s remaining curly fries.

 

Tim just rolls his eyes again.

 

-

 

Conner Kent is not stupid.

 

Sure, he might be the _team_ idiot, but that’s only because everyone else on the Titans is crazy smart, and even though qualifications don’t always mean intelligence, yeah, he is _forever_ gonna remind people that he graduated high school when Rob didn’t.

 

Anyway.

 

The point is, Conner’s known Tim long enough to know that when he’s weird, it’s because something’s going on. And over the past couple days in Metropolis, Tim has _definitely_ been weird.

 

He and Conner have been spending pretty much every day together, which means whatever it is, it’s either happening while Tim’s on his computer, or at night.

 

Conner has a fair guess which of the two it is. Also, he literally would not stand a chance against Tim’s cyber security. Like, c’mon. Trying to break into Tim’s laptop would probably be like trying to walk into the Batcave uninvited.

 

Which brings him to his current master plan.

 

He knows if Tim _is_ up to something, he’s gonna be sneaky about it. Like, for instance, waiting until Conner is asleep. And Conner’s smart enough to know he probably can’t fake-sleep well enough to fool Tim. So he lets himself actually sleep. For a couple of hours, anyway.

 

His phone beeps an alarm at 3am.

 

Conner whines and reaches out, smacking a hand against the screen to try and get it to shut up. He has a headache. It literally hurts to move. It’s an unholy hour of the morning and _nothing_ should be moving, least of all him.

 

Nevertheless, Conner rolls off the couch, rubbing groggily at his eyes and stifling a yawn. The things a hero does for friendship…

 

The hallway light flickers on as he creeps carefully towards his room, but his eyes still take a while to adjust to the surrounding darkness. Outside, the city lights take the place of stars, and there’s just a sliver of moon visible in the sky. Conner wonders vaguely if he actually gets any power from that. It’s just reflected sunlight, right? But it’s also not really _yellow_ … This is the kind of nerd science stuff Tim would be able to tell him, probably.

 

He pushes open the door to his room. The window is open again. Tim’s backpack is open on the bed – where Tim very much is not – and it’s visibly empty. Which maybe isn’t so suspicious given Conner knows Tim hangs his clean clothes up in the wardrobe like a neat freak, but if there’s nothing left in his backpack, what’s he moving or opening it for in the middle of the night?

 

Conner scowls at the empty bed. A quick touch of the sheets shows them to be cold. Wherever it is Tim’s gone, he left a decent while ago.

 

Conner quickly shoves on clothes – as quickly as he can manage with his whole body protesting being up in the hours of darkness, anyway – and cocks his head to one side, trying to focus in on Tim’s heartbeat as fast as he can manage.

 

Still in Metropolis.

 

Outskirts of the city.

 

Faster than usual.

 

Conner frowns and flies out of the already open window.

 

-

 

“- _not_ have the _right_!”

 

Tim is standing in the corner of some kind of laboratory, just about visible in the shadows. His glower is obvious even under his mask – one that Conner’s never seen before. It’s sort of like his domino from when he was Robin, but black and angular, covering up Tim’s nose. It makes him look sort of like a bird. An angry bird.

 

It’s not _Conner_ that Tim is angry at, though.

 

In the middle of the lab, dressed in an impeccably tailored grey suit because a white labcoat would just be too cliché, is Lex fucking Luthor. Who neither seems surprised nor bothered that Red Robin has just kind of dropped in to yell at him.

 

He rubs his forehead with his fingertips and exhales heavily, as though Tim is just an _inconvenience_. Conner’s been on the receiving end of that one before. “As I recall, we had an open doors policy regarding research and experimentation, minus a couple of ground rules. Please do elaborate on what exactly I didn’t have the _right_ to do, Timothy.”

 

Wait.

 

_Wait._

Is Lex _supposed_ to know Tim’s identity?

 

Tim’s hands clench at his sides. Conner knows one of them is twitching towards his bo staff, wherever it's hidden.

 

Lex looks almost amused. “I’d advise against attempts to stop me by force. Really, up until yesterday, I thought you more intelligent than that. How _is_ your back, by the way? I did tell Mercy to go lightly on you.”

 

“I wanted to talk. _You_ were the one who made things get like that.”

 

“Fine. Talk.”

 

“What do you _want_?”

 

Even from this distance, Conner can see Lex rolling his eyes. “I want what we _agreed_ upon.”

  
  
“He’s _back_ ,” Tim snaps. “You don’t need-“

 

“No. _You_ don’t need,” Lex cuts across sharply. “I was promised an heir. So unless you hold considerably more sway over Conner than you did previously, I am still _owed_.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” Tim says quietly. “You know I wouldn’t.”

 

Lex smirks. “Then you’ll have no objections to continuing. I could use a fresh genetic sample.”

 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have used the last one up on _them_.”

 

“Don’t feign idiocy, Timothy, it doesn’t suit you. The composite DNA used in them was negligible. If you prefer, next time I could send a more _obvious_ messenger-“

 

“You should know by now that threatening me is a dangerous move.” It’s not quite the growl Conner’s heard Tim using on patrol, but it’s halfway there. Not that Luthor’s exactly cowering from it, but still. Not many people dare _trying_ to intimidate Lex Luthor.

 

“Am I going to get a fresh sample?”

 

“ _Fine_. But it has to be blood this time. Conner’s already suspicious.”

 

Conner feels his heart sink to his stomach. He’s not really sure how else to take this. Tim’s been _stealing his DNA_ and feeding it to _Luthor_. And now he’s planning to do it _again_.

 

And okay, Luthor’s pretty obviously got to be blackmailing Tim or something, but Tim could have _told_ him. Conner would have helped him somehow, or the Justice League, or-

 

“I’m going to need some things if you want it tonight. I didn’t exactly bring my lab equipment with me.” Tim’s voice is quiet and flat. At least he’s not enjoying this, Conner thinks.

 

Lex waves a hand. “There are plenty of sterilised needles in the usual cupboard. Take a few. You know how quickly blood deteriorates.”

 

Conner watches as Tim opens one of the cupboards and rummages through, pulling out a handful of sealed syringes. He feels sick.

 

“I’ll have the samples in the main lab freezer by morning,” Tim says quietly.

 

And then he’s gone, disappeared into the shadows again with a faint swish of cape. Conner knows he should follow. He needs to get back to the apartment before Tim if he wants to avoid rousing suspicion. And…then what? Just _let_ Tim take his DNA?

 

“It’s a constant disappointment to me that you inherited your intelligence from the _other_ side of the gene pool,” Lex says aloud to the now-empty room.

 

Conner narrows his eyes. No way. He’s way too high up for Luthor to be able to see him.

 

“I have proximity sensors set up, running approximately a ten mile radius around every building that I own. One of them triggered eleven minutes ago. And Superman would have interfered prior to this.” He pauses. “This is going to be a very one-sided conversation if you insist on staying in the stratosphere.”

 

“Maybe I don’t _want_ a conversation, asshole,” Conner mutters.

 

Lex leans back against a workstation. There are all sorts of weird looking chemicals and containers dotted around the place. Conner’s sure there’s probably Kryptonite somewhere, too. Like hell is he going down there for a chat with _dear old dad_.

 

“Whilst I’m sure you just muttered something pithy,” Lex continues, “I’m afraid you’re somewhat out of hearing range. You’re welcome to stay up there, of course, assuming you’d prefer _not_ knowing the truth about what Timothy’s been up to.”

 

Fucking _dammit_.

 

Conner folds his arms tightly across his chest, and makes sure to glare hard enough that he could probably set something on fire with laser vision if he’s not careful. But he does float down to Luthor’s level. “I’m giving you, like, thirty seconds.”

 

“Hardly sufficient, even assuming you were in a position to be making demands.”

 

“Either you’re going to tell me or you aren’t.”

 

Lex smiles, amused. “Approximately a year ago, Timothy came looking for my help with a certain cloning project. I’m sure you can understand why. Almost all of the original CADMUS files were destroyed. Very few people have sufficient in-depth knowledge of Kryptonian genetics to replicate the experiment.”

 

“He was grieving and you took advantage, you mean.”

 

“I was helping him achieve his ends.”

 

“And _yours_ ,” Conner snaps.

 

Lex shrugs. “Is a father not allowed to mourn the loss of his son?”

 

“You are _so_ not my father.” Conner glares. “You’re my biological donor. And even _that’s_ overselling it.”

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

 

“Like hell you are.”

 

“I would remind you that I’m at least willing to _acknowledge_ you as my son. I would have raised you, had you wanted me to.”

 

“So I could grow up _evil_?!”

 

“So you would have had a _roof_ over your head,” Lex retorts. “Forgive me if I disagree with the school of parenting that thinks sending children to live alone in _Hawaii_ is acceptable.”

  
  
“I _liked_ Hawaii! And let’s not pretend that you give a _shit_ about my welfare, because I haven’t forgotten being _brainwashed_ and made to _break my best friend’s arm_!”

 

Lex purses his lips. “I make no claims to being a _good_ father to you. It was hardly something I had a great deal of experience with.”

  
  
“If you’re about to break into some sob story about how _your_ dad was mean to you, save your breath,” Conner huffs. “And quit whatever it is you’re making Tim do while you’re at it. Do your weird evil science projects _yourself_.”

 

“It’s Timothy’s project,” Lex says curtly. “I’m merely ensuring he doesn’t leave certain things…unfinished. But perhaps seeing it for yourself might be easier, given you’ve picked up Clark’s habit of assuming I have nothing better to do than _lie_ constantly.”

 

“Don’t you?” Conner says snidely.

 

Lex ignores him. “I own several small office blocks close to Mortimer Bridge. You’ll know them because of the lead lining. There’s a basement that joins all six of them, and houses a modest laboratory. You’ll find Timothy there. And a lot of questions, I should think.”

 

Conner narrows his eyes. “Right. Because that doesn’t scream ‘trap’, or anything.”

 

“Don’t be melodramatic. I’ve never deliberately endangered your life, and I’ve gone so far as to save it more times than you’ve ever bothered to _thank_ me for. But regardless, you don’t _need_ to trust me. I said you’ll find Timothy there, and you will, whether you follow my directions or his heartbeat. So whether or not it’s a trap really comes down to whether you trust _him_ , now doesn’t it?”

 

Conner really, really wants to punch the smirk off Luthor’s face.

 

 _So_ much.

 

But unfortunately, he has more pressing issues right now.

 

Like finding out what Tim _is_ up to behind his back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner gets Tim to tell the truth. Maybe a little too much truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE U READY FOR SOME BULLSHIT SCIENCE

If the Batcave and Metropolis General had a baby, Conner is pretty sure the basement level of these buildings would be it. The setup is cavernous in size alone, but it’s lit well with overhead fluorescents, and there are computer screens and steadily beeping machines everywhere.

 

There are also test tubes with things floating in them. Including several that look like tiny sleeping babies, and Conner is seriously going to hurl.

 

How could he have not known about this?

 

How could _Superman_ have not known? Isn’t he supposed to keep an eye on Luthor?

 

Isn’t he supposed to have learned from the _last_ time somebody got _made without asking to be?_

 

Tim is sat at one of several workstations, his back to Conner. Conner can’t see what he’s doing. Something he _shouldn’t_ be. Something the Tim he knows _wouldn’t_.

 

“I want the truth.” Conner’s voice cracks in his throat, the words only half-coming out, but it’s enough to make Tim jump up from his seat as he turns to face him.

 

There’s a hiss of pain as well as surprise, and something clatters to the floor next to Tim’s boots.

 

Conner’s eyes follow it. It’s one of the needles Tim took from Luthor earlier, he’s pretty sure, but there’s already some blood in it.

 

One of Tim’s sleeves is rolled up past his elbow, and there’s a purpling bruise spreading across the visible part of his arm. His heart rate is way faster than usual. “Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you,” he mutters.

 

Conner scowls. “Install a doorbell on your secret base next time, then. Or ask _Luthor_ to, I guess.”

 

Tim has the decency to flush, at least. “…I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Bullshit_. If you were sorry, you would have _stopped_. You would have _told_ someone. You would have told _me_.”

 

“I wanted to.” Tim’s voice is soft like some broken thing, and Conner hates it. He wants Tim to be angry, to yell at him because it would mean maybe he’d actually be _talking_ instead of constantly _keeping fucking secrets_.

 

“Then tell me exactly what Luthor has over you that’s got you pulling shit like this, Rob, because you told me you were _better_.”

 

He looks away. Down. Does that mean he’s lying? Remorseful? Conner wishes he understood body language better.

 

“I didn’t,” Tim says quietly. “I never said I was better.”

 

“You did.” Conner frowns at him. “You said you were better because you were diagnosed, and they gave you medication and stuff.”

 

Tim turns away, the lines in his body tensing, and even Conner can read that just fine. “This has nothing to do with that. I’m not having an _episode_ , Conner.”

 

“Then what _is_ this, Tim?!”

 

“…A calculated risk.”

 

Conner’s frown deepens. He glances down at the syringe of blood still lying at Tim’s feet. “Luthor will know, dumbass. Whatever your endgame is, you can’t give him your DNA instead of mine. Even _I’d_ be able to tell the difference.” Probably.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“The blood sample Luthor wanted. He’ll know if it’s not Kryptonian.”

 

“It’s not supposed to be.”

 

“…Huh?”

 

Tim bends to pick up the syringe, and places it on the workstation. “Luthor already has enough of your DNA on file to create a small _army_ of clones, if he wanted.” He glances back at Conner, who looks…faintly horrified by this knowledge. “He wouldn’t, though. Most of it’s actually being used for stem cell experimentation, in case your organs ever mess up again.”

 

“…Did he brainwash you? Because right now, I’m thinking brainwashing.”

 

Tim rolls his eyes. “Look. I’m not saying I’m on his side, or that I agree with everything he’s done or _is_ doing. But evil is at _best_ a vague alignment, not some indisputable identity.”

 

“He’s a _murderer_ , Tim.”

 

“I’m not working with him on _murdering_ people.” Tim’s hand moves to rest on the syringe.

 

Conner swallows hard. The way Tim is defending him… “Luthor doesn’t have anything over you, does he?”

 

“Not beyond exposing certain information, no. It’s in my interest to keep our collaboration secret from Bruce and similar, but I’m not _afraid_ of exposure. It would just be inconvenient.”

 

“And me? Am I an _inconvenience_?”

 

Tim’s expression softens. “No. Never.”

  
  
Conner walks over and puts his hand over Tim’s. “Then stop treating me like I’m a kid, Rob. Talk to me. _Trust_ me. Please?”

 

Tim hesitates, but he opens his mouth like he’s about to start talking, like he’s going to finally tell Conner the _truth_.

 

And then he leans in and presses his lips to Conner’s.

 

And okay, Conner kind of lets him for a few seconds. Because Tim is _kissing_ him, and he’s always wanted to know what that would actually be like. Tim’s lips are chapped, but he kisses softly and way more chastely than Conner’s been led to believe is usual. Maybe it’s because he’s kissing a dude. Maybe it’s because he’s kissing _Conner_.

 

Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t actually mean anything by it.

 

Conner pulls back, feeling faintly ill again. “Um.”

 

Tim flushes. “Sorry. I… That was…”

 

A mistake? “Yeah,” Conner mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

“Bad timing. I’m sorry.” Tim turns away again, quickly stepping away from Conner. He bites his lip. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“So why did you? To shut me up? To distract me?”

 

“ _No_.” Tim’s gaze turns on him again sharply. “I did it because I _wanted_ to, okay? I don’t have some ridiculous ulterior motive here. I didn’t suddenly wake up evil and manipulative this morning, or any _other_ morning for that matter. I’m the same person I always _have_ been, and I’m getting fed up of you and Dick and everyone else acting like I’ve had some kind of _personality transplant_.”

 

Conner frowns at him. “…I’m not sure you’re allowed to yell at me when you just kissed me in your totally-not-evil cloning lab, dude.”

 

“I’m not _yelling._ ”

 

“You’re yelling.”

 

Tim glowers at him.

 

Conner floats closer regardless. “So how come Luthor wants _your_ DNA, anyway?” he asks, keeping his voice soft like he’d talk to a scared kid or a startled animal.

 

“He…approves of me, I guess.” Tim shrugs. “Or us. I’m not sure which is the primary motivator. Maybe it’s neither, and it just reminds him of his early relationship with Clark. I don’t know.”

 

“…Lex wants to clone you because of…Clark? Huh?” Conner frowns, confused.

 

“What? No. Lex isn’t _cloning_ _me_ , Conner.”

 

“Then why does he want your DNA?”

 

“Kryptonian DNA can’t be exactly replicated. Any attempt at actual cloning is impossible, at least with the technology and scientific understanding we currently have. But it’s possible to recombine it. That’s why Lex added his own DNA rather than just creating Superman 2.0.”

 

Tim walks over to some kind of freezer cupboard with the blood sample, but he moves a little slower than usual, and he glances over his shoulder as he talks, even if he doesn’t quite bother to meet Conner’s eye. “I knew about all that from the CADMUS files, but I didn’t realise it would still apply to an already hybrid Kryptonian. That’s why none of my experiments worked. It’s possible some of them could have survived for a short period, but I wasn’t looking to get you back just to watch you die again.”

 

Conner thinks about the only other ‘successful’ cloning attempt he knows about, and how Match’s mind and body just rotted away over time. He suppresses a shudder. He’s not even sure where his ‘twin’ is anymore, or what state he’s in. He’s not sure he wants to know. “So you went to Lex.”

 

“Yes,” Tim says simply. He slots the blood sample away in a rack full of test tubes. Conner daren’t ask what’s in half of them. “To be more accurate, I hacked into his personal computer systems and raided it for any references to things that might have been missing from the CADMUS files. But he has a lot of security, and it needed an…inside operation.”

 

Conner groans. “Rob. What did you do?”

 

He closes the freezer door. “I may have masqueraded as a new intern in one of LexCorp’s science divisions. It wasn’t that dangerous. Mercy doesn’t actually like getting blood on her clothes if she can help it, because getting Lex to sign off on the dry-cleaning is like getting water from a stone. Anyway. Alongside a few related projects, Lex and I started working together on recombining your genetic material.”

 

“With…yours? Why?”

 

Tim shrugs. “It was my project. Would you have preferred we used a complete stranger’s DNA?”

 

“Well…no. But it’s kinda _weird_ , dude. You would’ve basically created our _kid_.”

 

Tim is quiet for maybe a second too long for Conner to feel strictly comfortable. “Interesting. Do you think of yourself as Lex and Clark’s son?”

 

“What? _No_. Dude. Clark is a…cousin. And Lex is a _creep_.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Conner frowns. “He _is_.”

 

“I’m curious why you’d feel differently about our DNA being combined than you do about theirs.”

 

“Because I… it…” Conner’s frown deepens. “Why were you doing it anyway? Like, the cloning I sort of understood cuz you were grieving me and wanted me back and all, but that’s different to making a _kid_ , Rob.”

 

“Not particularly. Even if it were possible to clone an exact genetic duplicate, it wouldn’t have been _you_. I probably wouldn’t have aged them up so quickly. Maybe I’d have raised them,” he says quietly. “I don’t know.”

 

“Dude. Having a kid is…pretty major.”

  
  
“Maybe I needed something major. A lot of people say having children gave them a sense of fulfilment. Purpose.”

 

“That’s what this is about? Finding a purpose?”

 

Tim leans back against the freezer door, frowning. “No. Yes. I don’t _know_.”

 

“There are other ways.”

 

He snorts. “Like what? Putting on a mask and beating up criminals every night?”

 

“The mask _is_ an improvement on the cowl,” Conner says, carefully closing the distance between them again. He brushes his hand against Tim’s. “But I mean… If you really want a _kid_ … Maybe you should settle down. Quit the biz, maybe. If that’s what you want.”

 

“I don’t want to quit,” Tim says quietly.

 

Conner shrugs. “You don’t _have_ to quit. Lots of superheroes juggle families as well. Hell, you Bats have like, the biggest family around. Just… I dunno, dude. Wouldn’t adoption be easier? You don’t have to involve Luthor. You can just…buy a new place, and find someone, and adopt a kid together. Take it slow and steady.”

 

Tim looks up at him with a wry smile. Conner can see his individual eyelashes, they’re standing so close. “I’m not sure there are that many people wanting to raise a kid with a dysfunctional psychotic vigilante.”

 

“Dude. Have you _seen_ Tinder? People have lower standards than you’d think.”

 

Tim snorts. “Wow.”

 

“Shit. That came out wrong. I mean. It’s _true_ , but. Not exactly what I meant.”

 

“So what did you mean?” he asks softly. And shit, Tim has _really_ pretty eyes. He’s looking up at Conner through those lashes, and they’re in a Luthor-owned lab surrounded by half-alive experiments that Conner’s pretty sure are at least partially made from his own DNA, and he should be _mad_ about that, probably.

 

Instead, he just wets his lips. “Well, uh. I can think of one guy. Who’d be willing. Maybe. To do that. With you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Mmn.”

 

Tim arches an eyebrow, questioning like he doesn’t know _exactly_ what Conner is implying.

 

Fuck it.

 

Conner leans in and kisses him again, harder this time, pressing Tim back against the freezer.    

 

Tim is, uh… _responsive_. He hooks his foot around Conner’s ankle, pulling him closer, and _he’s_ the one who deepens the kiss, biting softly at Conner’s lower lip until he gasps.

 

Conner pulls back just enough to catch his breath. “Fuck. _Rob_ …”

 

“Do you mean it?” Tim asks softly.

 

“The kiss?”

 

“Raising a kid together.”

 

“Well… I mean, it’s a little _earlier_ than I was planning. But, yeah, kinda. I mean…I always planned to adopt anyway, so…”

 

“You don’t want to settle down with a girl and get married?”

 

Conner shrugs. “I’ve thought about it. Thought about marrying _you_ , too. But, uh. We don’t have to think about that for a while. Just…kissing and stuff is good for now.”

 

Tim kisses the corner of his mouth. “You want to raise a kid with me…and take it slow?” He’s smiling like he’s amused. Maybe he is.

 

“…Yes?” Conner clears his throat. “Uh. If that’s okay. I mean. I don’t wanna skip _dating_ you, y’know?”

 

“I guess that depends on how slow we’re talking.”

 

“However slow you want,” Conner promises.

 

“…And if I wanted to date you but also fuck you on top of a table within the next five minutes or so?”

 

Conner wraps his arms around Tim’s waist. “I have an actual _bed_ at home. Which is way comfier for that kinda thing. And, uh.” He flushes slightly. “Toys.”

 

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Toys?”

 

“Yeah. Is that…weird?”

 

“No. Interesting, maybe. Not weird.” Tim’s face has settled into that slight frown he gets when he’s trying to analyse a problem. Or hatching some kind of plan. Conner shivers.

 

“C’mon, Rob. It’s getting late.” It’s already way later than Conner is usually awake. Or earlier, he guesses. “Come home. Come to _bed_.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. He believes in a first time being special, but he’s also definitely up for messing around a little before conking out tonight.

 

Tim looks like he’s trying very hard not to look interested. Heh. Conner slides one of his hands a little lower and pinches him gently.

 

Tim’s flush outdoes Conner’s earlier one with ease. “…Okay," he relents. "Take us-“ He wraps his arms around Conner’s neck, leaning into his touch. “Take us home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the weirdest kidfic you never realised you signed on for. sorrynotsorry


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took literally forever to get out. Life got super busy and I had a lot of plotting to iron out. 
> 
> This marks the start of Act II, and also a POV switch to Tim for reasons that will hopefully become apparent further down the line.

Tim wakes to unusual warmth, and the slow-dawning realisation that Conner’s arms are wrapped around him.

 

“Morning,” Conner murmurs in his ear. His voice is soft, but Tim knows it’s for his benefit – light is leaking steadily through the curtains, and he knows Conner will have been awake since dawn. “How’re you feeling?”

 

In truth, Tim isn’t sure. His head feels hazy – as it probably should given his recent lack of sleep – but weirdly relaxed considering he’s already mentally tallying up the problems he needs to deal with. Conner doesn’t need to know about any of that, though. Tim rolls over just enough to give him a lazy smile. “Good. Better than I have in a long time, honestly. Surprisingly _not_ sore.”

 

There’s enough of a question injected in that last bit to get a laugh out of Conner. “You sort of fell asleep on the way back. Figured rest was probably a good idea. How many hours a night were you sneaking out, exactly?”

 

“I wasn’t keeping count.” Tim stifles a yawn, and moves to sit up. He has a lot to deal with today.

 

Step one, figure out just how deep Conner’s forgiveness runs. Tim’s been up to far more behind Conner’s back than just collaborating with Lex. He needs to make some tactical decisions about when to let things slip – he’s learned now not to rely on being able to keep secrets forever.

 

“Uh _huh_ ,” Conner says, sounding simultaneously disapproving and adoring. He rolls his eyes. “I’ll get you a coffee while you try and kick that brain back into gear.”

 

He heads out of the bedroom in just his boxers. Tim is not too tired to appreciate the view.

 

Step two, deal with Lex. There’s no way he’s going to let things drop, which means Tim has to figure out how to make Conner _compromise_ with _Lex Luthor_. Ugh. Alright, that one can wait until after a coffee or two.

 

Step three, take care of everything in Gotham. Even if he decides to settle in Metropolis or elsewhere with Conner, there are several things in motion that Tim can’t leave unfinished – nor does he plan to. This will inevitably involve-

 

Step four, deal with Bruce. Tim would much prefer to do that one on neutral ground, but asking to meet outside Gotham will invite instant suspicion. Ordinarily, Tim would look to Dick for moral support in this kind of situation, but lately…

 

Conner comes back wielding an almost comically large mug, the text printed on which reads ‘I NEED CAFFEINE TO FUNCTION’.

 

Tim gives it a raised eyebrow as it’s handed to him. “Is this an early birthday present, or do you hide addiction _really_ well?”

 

Conner snorts. “Mandy from next door left it here the other week. She’s off visiting her aunt at the moment, so I haven’t been able to return it.”

 

“Mandy from next door, huh?” Tim teases. “Should I be jealous that your friendly farmboy schtick is working even on unsociable city folk?”

 

“She’s not _unsociable_ , and she’s a _lesbian_ , so there.”

 

Tim shrugs a shoulder. “I dated Steph.”

 

“Mutual bearding doesn’t count.”

 

Tim chokes on a sip of coffee. Conner smirks triumphantly, though not for long.

 

“I think we should have a joint family brunch,” Tim suggests casually.

 

Conner freezes. “…Joint? Like, my family and… _your_ family?”

 

Tim nods. “Bruce will respect our relationship a lot more if we’re up front about it, and I know Alfred enjoys Ma’s company as much as her food…”

 

Conner looks less than convinced. “Dude, I still remember Batman threatening to _castrate_ me for kissing Batgirl.”

 

“So you agree it’s better to do this now, before we’ve done anything less innocent than kissing?” Tim smiles. He knows he’s already won. Conner doesn’t immediately respond, which Tim takes as submission to the inevitable. “I think we should do it at the farm, if Ma’s willing to host. It means she doesn’t have to worry about travelling.”

 

“And Batman will be less keen on collateral damage if a fight or anything breaks out.” Conner folds his arms across his chest and gives Tim a pointed look.

 

“Bruce,” Tim corrects. “We’re not inviting him in the costume.” He doesn’t bother to deny the collateral damage point when it _was_ part of his tactical consideration. He also knows that Smallville has a relatively low percentage of stored Kryptonite within an easy radius of the farm. Tim isn’t naïve enough to think Bruce won’t bring any, but he can at least limit it to the amount that can be hidden on his person.

 

Conner snorts loudly. “I read the papers, Tim. And I’ve met your dad. He’s _not_ Bruce Wayne. He’s Batman in a different suit.”

 

Tim sighs. “Do you want to invite Clark?”

 

Conner hesitates before nodding. “Yeah. But…I wanna tell him separately. If that’s cool.”

 

Tim nods. “Yeah, no problem. I mean, I don’t want to _force_ anything, if you’re not comfortable coming out yet. That’s okay.”

 

“It is so not that, dude. I just, uh, wanna get a chance to talk some stuff out before we have to do it in front of _Batman_ , y’know?”

 

“Totally.” Tim smiles.

 

Conner looks relieved. “Cool. So, uh, are you…staying for a while? In Metropolis?”

 

“For a couple more days. I don’t have to stay _here_ , though, if you don’t-“ He cuts off as Conner’s hands find his face, cupping his cheeks earnestly.   
  
“Tim. You can pretty much stay _forever_ if you want. I mean, you’re officially gonna have to share the bed, but I don’t think that’s much of an issue. But I’m also pretty sure you have, like, work and stuff? I’m mostly asking ‘cuz I need to work out what’s gonna be for dinner.”

 

“Oh.” Tim’s cheeks tinge pink. “Okay.” He looks at Conner for a moment, not used to seeing him quite this close, or expecting an offer to stay. “I have a meeting on Tuesday with Tam and some of the board, to discuss expansion plans. I’m free until then.”

 

“No other plans?”

 

Tim doesn’t know if he’s imagining the hint of suspicion in Conner’s voice. He frowns. “I…do need to talk stuff over with Luthor, at some point.”

 

Conner’s face immediately drops. “Are you fucking serious?”

 

“He has my _DNA_ , Conner.”   
  
“Mine too, but you don’t see _me_ headed over for a friendly chat!”

 

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Hear me out. I’ve been working with him for _months_. If he wanted to kill me, or brainwash me or whatever, he’s had ample opportunity. He doesn’t even have blackmail over me anymore, because you _know_ now. So I don’t really see much of a threat in me going over to _try_ and talk things through. If it goes south, we’ll get the League involved. Okay?”

 

Conner is still frowning, less than convinced. “I think you’re underestimating him.”

 

“I think you’re underestimating _me_ ,” Tim counters. “I’ve run the scenarios here, Conner. Lex will have done, too. He can’t lay a finger on me without bringing down Batman and probably half the League on top of whatever operations he has going. This started because it was mutually beneficial for both of us. I’m going to remind him why it’s mutually beneficial to _stop_.”

 

“…Okay,” Conner relents. “I’ll talk to Clark this afternoon, and give you a couple hours. But if you’re not back here safe by the time I’m done, so _help_ me, Tim.”

 

Tim nods. “I know. I’ll even let you carry me out bridal style like some damsel in distress. But I can _handle_ this.”

 

\--

 

It’s entirely possible that Tim cannot, in fact, handle this.

 

Ideally, he would have shown up here in one of his best suits, because he and Luthor both understand Armani as armour. But given that that would require Conner flying him back to Gotham, Tim’s had to make do with slacks and a button shirt – the most formal clothing he’d thought to bring on this trip.

 

He looks like a tourist, and it makes him feel vulnerable. The sunglasses hung around his collar probably only cement the Wayne persona for anyone who recognises him, but Tim’s hoping that’s very few people. The last thing he needs is some expose on Wayne Enterprises double-dealing with LexCorp. The glasses do, however, hide a microscopic camera, recording directly to Tim’s laptop. He’s hoping not to _need_ proof of anything, but preparation never hurts.

 

As predicted, Luthor’s secretary calls him through after barely a minute of waiting, despite Tim _knowing_ Luthor’s schedule wasn’t previously clear. A little unnecessary, maybe, but Tim enjoys forcing Luthor to admit – however non-verbally – that he sees Tim as important. As a threat.

 

Lex is at his desk, several black folders sat to one side. “Timothy Wayne. To what do I owe the pleasure? I wasn’t aware you were visiting Metropolis. Please, do sit.” He gestures towards one of the two empty chairs in front of his desk.

 

Tim sits, one leg folded casually across the other. If Lex wants to play it this way, Tim is game. “I’m filing a few patents. I thought I might stop by for a chat, and make sure that I don’t have to file a cease and desist while I’m at it.”

 

“Oh?” Lex arches an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. “Please, do enlighten me as to what Wayne Enterprises are accusing my company of infringing upon.”

 

“You have samples of my DNA,” Tim says bluntly. “And no legal documentation proving that consent was given.”

 

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken.” Lex smiles.

 

“I can get a warrant.”

 

“I took biological samples from the vigilante known as Red Robin,” Lex says calmly. “Would you like to draw public attention to _why_ you would believe that DNA matches yours?”

 

“Plenty of reporters have already investigated any overlap between my identity and Red Robin’s, and disproved the theory.”

 

“And yet, with known shapeshifters, what can really be disproven for certain these days?”

 

Tim’s eyes narrow. “Fine. The theory can’t be proven _or_ disproven. I still want the DNA destroyed. Don’t think I won’t go through Batman Incorporated to file a lawsuit on Red Robin’s behalf.”

 

Lex smirks. “And here I thought you lacked Bruce Wayne’s flair for the dramatic. Very well. I’m willing to listen to your proposal. What are you offering me in return?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“We both know that isn’t how this game works.” Lex steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair. “Give and take, Timothy. I gave you Conner, and I took what was owed to me by a certain vigilante. If you want to take that back, you’ll have to give something different in return.”

 

“Conner isn’t your _property_ ,” Tim snaps. “Don’t pretend you’ve been pulling strings and this was all part of some bullshit _bigger plan_. You thought you could turn him against me, and you were wrong. You don’t have any pieces left on the chessboard, Luthor. You can give me what I want, and maybe your son doesn’t hate you as much for the rest of your life. Or you can make an enemy of me. Ask Ra’s Al Ghul how well that works out.”

 

Lex smiles. “Timothy, Timothy, Timothy… The _League_ simply hasn’t yet discovered that Conner is your emotional Kryptonite.”

 

“There are different forms of Kryptonite. Not all of them are weakening.”

 

Lex quirks an eyebrow. “Indeed. Perhaps it would be more accurate to view as _amplification_. You’re less cautious where Conner is involved. More likely to take risks. More likely to embrace your _morally grey_ side.”

 

Tim huffs out a breath. “If you think you can use Conner to manipulate me into doing your dirty work, good luck.”

 

“Not at all.” Lex smiles and picks up one of the folders from the desk. “I plan on sitting back and watching you carry out your own. Good day, Timothy. Please inform Red Robin that he is more than welcome to collect his property _himself_. He knows where to find me.”

 

Tim frowns, but stands up from his seat. He knows when he’s being dismissed. He also knows when to pick a fight.

 

This one can wait.


End file.
